CHAPTER XIV. A FINE OLD IRISH BARRISTER
Can any one tell us what has become of that high conversational powerfor which Ireland, but more especially Dublin, was once celebrated? Havethe brilliant talkers of other days left no successors? Has that race ofdelightful con-vivialists gone and disappeared forever? Or are we onlyenduring an interregnum of dulness, the fit repose, perhaps, after aperiod of such excitement? The altered circumstances of the country willdoubtless account for much of this change. The presence of a Parliamentin Ireland imparted a dignity and importance to society, while itsecured to social intercourse the men who made that Senate illustrious.The Bar, too, of former days, was essentially the career of the highestclass, of those who had the ambition of political success without thenecessity of toiling for it through the laborious paths of the law; andthus the wit, the brilliancy, and the readiness which gives conversationits charm, obtained the high culture which comes of a learnedprofession, and the social intercourse with men of refinedunderstanding.
With the Union this spirit died out. Some of the brightest and gayestretired from the world, sad, dispirited, and depressed; some felt thata new and very different career was to open before them, and addressedthemselves to the task of conforming to new habits and acquiring newinfluences; and others, again, sought in the richer and greater countrythe rewards which they once were satisfied to reap in their own. Withthe Union, society in Dublin--using the word in its really comprehensivesense--ceased to exist. The great interests of a nation departed, mensank to the level of the small topics that engaged them, and graduallythe smallest and narrowest views of mere local matters usurped the placeof great events and liberal speculations. Towards the end of thefirst quarter of the present century, a few of those who had once madecompanionship with Curran and Grattan and Lysaght and Parsons were stillin good health and vigor. A fine, high-hearted, manly class they were,full of that peculiar generosity of character which has ever marked thetrue Irish gentleman, and with a readiness in humor and a genial flow ofpleasantry which rendered their society delightful.
Of this school--and probably the last, for he was then the Father of theBar--was Valentine Repton, a man whose abilities might have won for himthe very highest distinctions, but who, partly through indolence, andpartly through a sturdy desire to be independent of all party, had allhis life rejected every offer of advancement, and had seen his juniorspass on to the highest ranks of the profession, while he still wore hisstuff-gown, and rose to address the Court from the outer benches.
He was reported in early life to have professed very democraticopinions, for which he more than once had incurred the _deep_displeasure of the authorities of the University. The principles ofthe French Revolution had, however, been gradually toned down in himby time, and probably by a very aristocratic contempt for the party whoadvocated them; so that soon after he entered on his career at the Barhe seemed to have abandoned politics; nor, except by a sly jest or anepigram upon a party leader, no matter of which side, did he ever advertto the contests of statecraft.
Though closely approaching seventy, he was hale and vigorous, his grayeyes quick and full of fire, his voice clear, and his whole air andbearing that of one many years younger. He had been a "beau" in hisyouth, and there was in the accurately powdered hair, the lace rufflesin which he still appeared at dinner, and the well-fitting silkstocking, an evidence that he had not forgotten the attractions ofdress. At the Bar he still maintained the very highest place. Hispowers of cross-examination were very great; his management of a juryunrivalled. A lifelong acquaintance with Dublin had familiarized himwith the tone and temper of every class of its citizens, and had taughthim the precise kind of argument, and the exact nature of the appeal toaddress to each. As he grew older, perhaps he did not observe all hiswonted discretion in the use of this subtle power, and somewhat presumedupon his own skill. Nor was he so scrupulous in his deference to theCourt,--a feature which had once pre-eminently distinguished him;but, upon the whole, he had kept wonderfully clear of the proverbialirritability of age, and was, without an exception, the favorite amongsthis brethren.
The only touch of years observable about his mind was a fondness forrecurring to incidents or events in which he himself had borne a part.A case in which he held a brief, the dinner at which he hadbeen brilliant, the epigram he had dashed off in Lady Somebody'sdrawing-room, were bright spots he could not refrain from adverting to;but, generally speaking, he had skill enough to introduce these withoutany seeming effort or any straining, and thus strangers, at least, werein wonderment at his endless stores of anecdote and illustration. Noman better than he knew how to throw a great name into the course of aconversation, and make an audience for himself, by saying, "I rememberone day at the Priory with Curran"--or, "We were dining with poorGrattan at Tinnehinch, when--" "As Flood once remarked to me--" and soon.
The flattery of being addressed by one who had stood in such intimaterelation to those illustrious men never failed of success. The mostthoughtless and giddy hearers were at once arrested by such an opening,and Repton was sure of listeners in every company.
The man who finds his place in every society is unquestionably a cleverman. The aptitude to chime in with the tone of others infers a highorder of humor,--of humor in its real sense; meaning, thereby,the faculty of appreciating, and even cultivating, the individualpeculiarities of those around him, and deriving from their display ahigh order of pleasure.
From these scattered traits let my reader conjure up Valentine Reptonbefore him, and imagine the bustling, active, and brisk-looking oldgentleman whose fidgetiness nearly drove Martin mad, as they heldconverse together in the library after breakfast. Now seated, now risingto pace the room, or drawing nigh the window to curse the pelting rainwithout, Repton seemed the incarnation of uneasiness.
"Very splendid--very grand--very sumptuous--no doubt," said he, ranginghis eyes over the gorgeous decorations of the spacious apartment, "butwould kill me in a month; what am I saying?--in a week!"
"What would kill you, Repton?" said Martin, languidly.
"This life of yours, Martin,--this sombre quiet, this unbrokenstillness, this grave-like monotony. Why, man, where 's yourneighborhood? where are your gentry friends?"
"Cosby Blake, of Swainestown, is abroad," said Martin, with an indolentdrawl. "Randal Burke seldom comes down here now. Rickman, I believe, isin the Fleet. They were the nearest to us!"
"What a country! and you are spending--What did you tell me lastnight,--was it upwards of ten thousand a year here?"
"What with planting, draining, bridging, reclaiming waste lands,and other improvements, the wages of last year alone exceeded seventhousand!"
"By Jove! it 's nigh incredible," said the lawyer, energetically. "Mydear Martin, can't you perceive that all this is sheer waste,--so muchgood money actually thrown into Lough Corrib? Tell me, frankly, how longhave you been pursuing this system of improvement?"
"About three years; under Mary's management."
"And the results,--what of them?"
"It is too early to speak of that; there's Kyle's Wood, forinstance,--we have enclosed that at considerable cost. Of course wecan't expect that the mere thinnings can repay us, the first year ortwo."
"And your reclaimed land,--how has _it_ prospered?"
"Not over well. They pushed draining so far that they 've left a largetract perfectly barren and unproductive."
"And the harbor,--the pier I saw yesterday?"
"That 's a bad business,--it's filling up the bay with sand! but we'llalter it in summer."
"And now for the people themselves,--are they better off, better fed,clothed, housed, and looked after, than before?"
"Mary says so. She tells me that there is a wonderful change for thebetter in them."
"I don't believe a word of it, Martin,--not a word of it. Ireland is notto be redeemed by her own gentry. The thing is sheer impossibility! Theyboth know each other too well. Do you understand me? They are too readyto make allowances for shortcomi
ngs that have their source in somenational prejudice; whereas your Saxon or your Scotchman wouldscout such a plea at once. Ireland wants an alternative, Martin,--analternative; and, amidst our other anomalies, not the least singular isthe fact that the Englishman, who knows nothing about us, nor ever willknow anything, is precisely the man to better our condition."
"These are strange opinions to hear from your lips, Repton. I neverheard any man so sarcastic as yourself on English ignorance regardingIreland."
"And you may hear me again on the same theme whenever you vouchsafe mean audience," said the lawyer, sharply. "It was but the other day I gaveour newly arrived secretary, Mr. Muspratt, a gentle intimation of mysentiments on that score. We were dining at the Lodge. I sat next hisExcellency, who, in the course of dinner, directed my attention to avery graphic picture the secretary was drawing of the misery he hadwitnessed that very day, coming up from Carlow. He did the thing well,I must own. He gave the famished looks, the rags, the wretchedness, alltheir due; and he mingled his pathos and indignation with all the skillof an artist; while he actually imparted a Raffaelle effect to hissketch, as he portrayed the halt, the maimed, the blind, and the palsiedthat crowded around the carriage as he changed horses, exclaiming,by way of peroration, 'Misery and destitution like this no man everwitnessed before, all real and unfeigned as it was sure to be.'
"'Naas is a miserable place, indeed,' said I, for he looked directlytowards me for a confirmation of his narrative.
"'There is no denying one word the gentleman has said; I came up that wayfrom circuit three weeks ago, and was beset in the same spot, and in thesame manner as we have just heard. I can't attempt such a description asMr. Muspratt has given us; but I will say that there was not a humandeformity or defect that did n't appear to have its representative inthat ragged gathering, all clamorous and eager for aid. I looked at themfor a while in wonderment, and at last I threw out a "tenpenny" in themidst. The "blind" fellow saw it first, but the "lame cripple" had thefoot of him, and got the money!'"
Repton leaned back in his chair, and laughed heartily as he finished. "Ionly wish you saw his face, Martin; and, indeed, his Excellency's too.The aides-de-camp laughed; they were very young, and could n't help it."
"He 'll not make you a chief justice, Repton," said Martin, slyly.
"I 'll take care he don't," said the other. "_Summum jus summa injuria_.The chief justice is a great humbug, or a great abuse, whichever way youlike to render it."
"And yet they'd be glad to promote you," said Martin, thoughtfully.
"To be sure they would, sir; delighted to place me where they had nofear of my indiscretions. But your judge should be ever a grave animal.The temptation to a joke should never sit on the ermine. As Flood onceremarked to me of old Romney, 'A man, sir,' said he,--and Flood hada semi-sarcastic solemnity always about him,--'a man, sir, who hasreversed the law of physics; for he rose by his gravity, and only fellby his lightness.' Very epigrammatic and sharp, that. Ah, Martin, theydon't say these things nowadays. By the way, who is the young fellow whodined with us yesterday?"
"His name is Nelligan; the son of one of our Oughterard neighbors."
"Pleasing manners, gentle, too, and observant," said Repton, with thetone of one delivering a judgment to be recorded.
"He's more than that," said Martin; "he is the great prize man of theyear in Trinity. You must have surely heard of his name up in town."
"I think somebody did speak of him to me,--recommend him, in someshape or other," said Repton, abstractedly; "these things are so easilyforgotten; for, to say the truth, I hold very cheaply all intellectualefforts accomplished by great preparation. The cramming, the grinding,the plodding, the artificial memory work, and the rest of it, detractterribly, in my estimation, from the glory of success. Give me yourman of impromptu readiness, never unprepared, never at a loss. The veryconsciousness of power is double power." And as he spoke he drew himselfup, threw his head back, and stared steadfastly at Martin, as though tosay, "Such is he who now stands before you."
Martin was amused at the display of vanity, and had there been anotherthere to have participated in the enjoyment, would have willinglyencouraged him to continue the theme; but he was alone, and let it pass.
"I 'll make a note of that young man. Mulligan, is n't it?"
"Nelligan."
"To be sure. I 'll remember poor Curran's epigram:--
'Oh, pity poor Tom Nelligan! Who walking down Pall Mall, He slipt his foot, And down he fell, And fears he won't get well again.'
Glorious fellow, sir; the greatest of all the convivialists of histime, was Curran. A host in himself; but, as he once said, you could n'talways depend on the 'elevation.'"
Martin smiled faintly; he relished the lawyer's talk, but he feltthat it demanded an amount of attention on his part that wearied him.Anything that cost him trouble was more or less of a "bore;" and healready began to wish for his accustomed ease and indolence.
"Well, Repton," said he, "you wished to see the quarries, I think?"
"To see everything and everybody, sir, and with my own eyes, too. AsLysaght said, when I read the book of nature, 'I let no man note mybrief for me.'"
"I thought of being your companion, myself; but somehow, this morning,my old enemy, the gout, is busy again; however, you 'll not regret theexchange, Repton, when I give you in charge to my niece. She 'll be buttoo happy to do the honors of our poor country to so distinguished avisitor."
"And a very artful plan to put me in good humor with everything," saidRepton, laughing. "Well, I consent. I offer myself a willing victim toany amount of seduction. How are we to go?--do we drive, walk, or ride?"
"If Mary be consulted, she'll say ride," said Martin; "but perhaps--"
"I'm for the saddle, too," broke in Repton. "Give me something activeand lively, light of mouth and well up before, and I'll show you, asTom Parsons said, that we can cut as good a figure at the wall as the'bar.'"
"I 'll go and consult my niece, then," said Martin, hastening out of theroom, to conceal the smile which the old man's vanity had just provoked.
Mary was dressed in her riding-habit, and about to leave her room as heruncle entered it.
"I have just come in the nick of time, Molly, I see," cried he. "Iwant you to lionize an old friend of mine, who has the ambition to 'do'Connemara under your guidance."
"What a provoke!" said Mary, half aloud. "Could he not wait for anotherday, uncle? I have to go over to Glencalgher and Kilduff; besides,there's that bridge to be looked after, and they 've just come to tellme that the floods have carried away the strong paling around the larchcopse. Really, this old gentleman must wait." It was a rare thing forMary Martin to display anything either of impatience or opposition toher uncle. Her affection for him was so blended with respect that shescarcely ever transgressed in this wise; but this morning she was illand irritable,--a restless, feverish night following on a day of greatfatigue and as great excitement,--and she was still suffering, and hernerves jarring when he met her.
"But I assure you, Molly, you 'll be pleased with the companionship,"began Martin.
"So I might at another time; but I 'm out of sorts to-day, uncle. I 'mcross and ill-tempered, and I 'll have it out on Mr. Henderson,--thatprecious specimen of his class. Let Mr. Nelligan perform cicerone, orpersuade my Lady to drive him out; do anything you like with him, exceptgive him to me."
"And yet that is exactly what I have promised him. As for Nelligan, theyare not suited to each other; so come, be a good girl, and comply."
"If I must," said she, pettishly. "And how are we to go?"
"He proposes to ride, and bespeaks something lively for his own mount."
"Indeed! That sounds well!" cried she, with more animation. "There 's'Cropper' in great heart; he 'll carry him to perfection. I 'll have aring-snaffle put on him, and my word for it but he 'll have a pleasantride."
"Take care, Molly; take care that he's not too fresh. Remember thatRepton is some dozen years or
more my senior."
"Let him keep him off the grass and he 'll go like a lamb. I'll notanswer for him on the sward, though; but I 'll look to him, uncle, andbring him back safe and sound." And, so saying, Mary bounded away downthe stairs, and away to the stables, forgetting everything of her latediscontent, and only eager on the plan before her.
Martin was very far from satisfied about the arrangement for hisfriend's equitation; nor did the aspect of Repton himself, as attiredfor the road, allay that sense of alarm; the old lawyer's costume beinga correct copy of the colored prints of those worthies who figured inthe early years of George the Third's reign,--a gray cloth spencer beingdrawn over his coat, fur-collared and cuffed, high riding-boots of blackpolished leather, reaching above the knee, and large gauntlets of brightyellow doeskin, completing an equipment which Martin had seen nothingresembling for forty years back.
"A perfect cavalier, Repton!" exclaimed he, smiling.
"We once could do a little that way," said the other, with a touchof vanity. "In our early days, Martin, hunting was essentially agentleman's pastime. The meet was not disfigured by aspiring linendrapers or ambitious hardwaremen, and the tone of the field was thetone of society; but _nous avons change tout cela_. Sporting men, asthey call themselves, have descended to the groom vocabulary; and thegroom morals, and we, of the old school, should only be laughed at forthe pedantry of good manners and good English, did we venture amongstthem."
"My niece will put a different estimate on your companionship; and hereshe comes. Molly, my old and valued friend, Mr. Repton."
"I kiss your hand, Miss Martin," said he, accompanying the speech by theact, with all the grace of a courtier. "It's worth while being an oldfellow, to be able to claim these antiquated privileges."
There was something in the jaunty air and well-assumed gallantry of theold lawyer which at once pleased Mary, who accepted his courtesy with agracious smile. She had been picturing to herself a very different kindof companion, and was well satisfied with the reality.
"I proposed to young Mr. Nelligan to join us," said Repton, as heconducted her to the door; "but it seems he is too deeply intent uponsome question or point of law or history--I forget which--whereupon wediffered last night, and has gone into the library to search for thesolution of it. As for me, Miss Martin, I am too young for such drylabors; or, as the Duc de Nevers said, when somebody rebuked himfor dancing at seventy, 'Only think what a short time is left me forfolly.'"
We do not propose to chronicle, the subjects or the sayings by whichthe old lawyer beguiled the way; enough if we say that Mary was actuallydelighted with his companionship. The racy admixture of humor and strongcommon-sense, acute views of life, flavored with, now a witty remark,now a pertinent anecdote, were conversational powers totally new to her.Nor was he less charmed with her. Independently of all the pleasureit gave him to find one who heard him with such true enjoyment, andrelished all his varied powers of amusing, he was equally struck withthe high-spirited enthusiasm and generous ardor of the young girl. Shespoke of the people and the country with all the devotion of one wholoved both; and if at times with more of hopefulness than he himselfcould feel, the sanguine forecast but lent another charm to herfascination.
He listened with astonishment as she explained to him the differentworks then in progress,--the vast plans for drainage; the greatenclosures for planting; the roads projected here, the bridges there. Atone place were strings of carts, conveying limestone for admixture withthe colder soil of low grounds; at another they met asses loaded withseaweed for the potato land. There was movement and occupation on everyside. In the deep valleys, on the mountains, in the clefts of the rockyshore, in the dark marble quarries, hundreds of people were employed;and by these was Mary welcomed with eager enthusiasm the moment sheappeared. One glance at their delighted features was sufficient to showthat theirs was no counterfeit joy. Wherever she went the same receptionawaited her; nor did she try to conceal the happiness it conferred.
"This is very wonderful, very strange, and very fascinating, MissMartin," said Repton, as they moved slowly through a rocky path,escarped from the side of the mountain; "but pardon me if I venture tosuggest one gloomy anticipation in the midst of such brightness. What isto become of all these people when _you_ leave them,--as leave them youwill and must, one day?"
"I never mean to do so," said Mary, resolutely.
"Stoutly spoken," said he, smiling; "but, unfortunately, he who hears itcould be your grandfather. And again I ask, how is this good despotismto be carried on when the despot abdicates? Nay, nay; there never wasa very beautiful girl yet, with every charm under heaven, who did n'tswear she 'd never marry; so let us take another alternative. Your unclemay go to live in London,--abroad. He may sell Cro' Martin--"
"Oh, that is impossible! He loves the old home of his family and hisname too dearly; he would be incapable of such a treason to his house!"
"Now, remember, my dear young lady, you are speaking to the mostsuspectful, unimpulsive, and ungenerously disposed of all natures, anold lawyer, who has witnessed so many events in life he would haveonce pronounced impossible,--ay, just as roundly as you said the wordyourself,--and seen people and things under aspects so totally thereverse of what he first knew them, that he has taught himself tobelieve that change is the law, and not permanence, in this life, andthat you and I, and all of us, ought ever to look forward to anything,everything, but the condition in which at present we find ourselves.Now, I don't want to discourage you with the noble career you haveopened for yourself here. I am far more likely to be fascinated--I wasgoing to say fall in love--with you for it, than to try and turn yourthoughts elsewhere; but as to these people themselves, the experimentcomes too late."
"Is it ever too late to repair a wrong, to assist destitution, relievemisery, and console misfortune?" broke in Mary, eagerly.
"It is too late to try the feudal system in the year of our Lord 1829,Miss Martin. We live in an age where everything is to be redressed bya Parliament. The old social compact between proprietor and peasant isrepealed, and all must be done by 'the House.' Now, if your grandfatherhad pursued the path that you are doing to-day, this crisis mightnever have arrived; but he did not, young lady. He lived like a realgentleman; he hunted, and drank, and feasted, and rack-rented, andhorsewhipped all around him; and what with duelling of a morning anddrinking over-night, taught the people a code of morals that has assumedall the compactness of a system. Ay, I say it with grief, this is a landcorrupted from the top, and every vice of its gentry has but filtereddown to its populace! What was that I heard?--was it not a shot?" criedhe, reining in his horse to listen.
"I thought so, too; but it might be a blast, for we are not far from thequarries."
"And do you preserve the game, Miss Martin? are you sworn foe to thepoacher?"
"I do so; but in reality more for the sake of the people than thepartridges. Your lounging country fellow, with a rusty gun and a starvedlurcher, is but an embryo highwayman."
"So he is," cried Repton, delighted at the energy with which she spoke;"and I have always thought that the worst thing about the game-laws wasthe class of fellows we educate to break them. Poor old Cranbury was n'tof that opinion, though. You could never have seen him, Miss Martin; buthe was a fine specimen of the Irish Bench in the old time. He was thereadiest pistol in the Irish house; and, as they said then, he 'shot up'into preferment. He always deemed an infraction of the game-laws as oneof the gravest crimes in the statute. Juries, however, did n't concurwith him; and, knowing the severity of the penalty, they invariablybrought in a verdict of Not Guilty, rather than subject a poor wretchto transportation for a jack-snipe. I remember once,--it was atMaryborough; the fellow in the dock was a notable poacher, and, worsestill, the scene of his exploits was Cranbury's own estate. As usual,the jury listened apathetically to the evidence; they cared littlefor the case, and had predetermined the verdict. It was, however, sopalpably proven, so self-evident that he was guilty, that they clubbedtheir heads toge
ther to concert a pretext for their decision. Cranburysaw the movement, and appreciated it, and, leaning his head down uponhis hand, mumbled out, as if talking to himself, in broken sentences,'A poor man--with a large family--great temptation--and, after all,a slight offence,--a very slight offence.' The jury listened and tookcourage; they fancied some scruples were at work in the old judge'sheart, and that they might venture on the truth, innocuously. 'Guilty,my Lord,' said the foreman. 'Transportation for seven years!' cried thejudge, with a look at the jury-box that there was no mistaking. Theywere 'done,' but there never was another conviction in that townafterwards."
"And were such things possible on the justice-seat?" exclaimed Mary, inhorror.
"Ah, my dear young lady, I could tell you of far worse than that. Therewas a time in this country when the indictment against the prisonerwas Secondary in importance to his general character, his party,his connections, and fifty other things which had no bearing uponcriminality. There goes another shot! I 'll swear to that," cried he,pulling up short, and looking in the direction from which the reportproceeded.
Mary turned at the same moment, and pointed with her whip towards abeech wood that skirted the foot of the mountain.
"Was it from that quarter the sound came?" said she.
The sharp crack of a fowling-piece, quickly followed by a second report,now decided the question; and, as if by mutual consent, they bothwheeled their horses round, and set off at a brisk canter towards thewood.
"I have taken especial pains about preserving this part of the estate,"said Mary, as they rode along. "It was my cousin Harry's favorite coverwhen he was last at home, and he left I can't say how many directionsabout it when quitting us; though, to say truth, I never deemed anyprecautions necessary till he spoke of it."
"So that poaching was unknown down here?"
"Almost completely so; now and then some idle fellow with a half-bredgreyhound might run down a hare, or with a rusty firelock knock over arabbit, but there it ended. And as we have no gentry neighbors to askfor leave, and the Oughterard folks would not venture on that liberty,I may safely say that the report of a gun is a rare event in thesesolitudes."
"Whoever he be, yonder, is not losing time," said Rep-ton; "there wasanother shot."
Their pace had now become a smart half-gallop; Mary, a little inadvance, leading the way, and pointing out the safe ground to hercompanion. As they drew nigh the wood, however, she slackened speed tillhe came up, and then said,--
"As I know everybody hereabouts, it will be enough if I only see theoffender; and how to do that is the question."
"I am at your orders," said Repton, raising his whip to a salute.
"It will be somewhat difficult," said Mary, pondering; "the wood is soovergrown with low copse that one can't ride through it, except alongcertain alleys. Now we might canter there for hours and see nothing. Ihave it," cried she, suddenly; "you shall enter the wood and ride slowlyalong the green alley, yonder, till you come to the crossroad, when you'll turn off to the left; while I will remain in observation outsidehere, so that if our friend make his exit I am sure to overtake him. Atall events, we shall meet again at the lower end of the road."
Repton made her repeat her directions, and then, touching his hat inrespectful salutation, rode away to fulfil his mission. A low gate,merely fastened by a loop of iron without a padlock, admitted the lawyerwithin the precincts, in which he soon discovered that his pace must bea walk, so heavy was the deep clayey soil, littered with fallen leavesand rotting acorns. Great trees bent their massive limbs over his head,and, even leafless as they were, formed a darksome, gloomy aisle, thesides of which were closed in with the wild holly and the broom, andeven the arbutus, all intermingled inextricably. There was somethingsolemn even to sadness in the deep solitude, and so Repton seemed tofeel as he rode slowly along, alone, tingeing his thoughts of her he hadjust quitted with melancholy.
"What a girl and what a life!" said he, musingly. "I must tellMartin that this will never do! What can all this devotion end in butdisappointment! With the first gleam of their newly acquired power thepeople will reject these benefits; they will despise the slow-won fruitsof industry as the gambler rejects a life of toil. Then will comea reaction--a terrible reaction--with all the semblance of blackingratitude! She will herself be disgusted. The breach once made willgrow wider and wider, and at last the demagogue will take the place ofthe landed proprietor. Estrangement at first, next distrust, and finallydislike, will separate the gentry from the peasantry, and then--Itremble to think of what then!"
As Repton had uttered these words, the sharp bang of a gun startled him,and at the same instant a young fellow sprang from the copse in frontof him into the alley. His coarse fustian shooting-jacket, low-crownedoil-skin hat, and leather gaiters seemed to bespeak the professionalpoacher, and Repton dashed forward with his heavy riding-whip upraisedtowards him.
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"Take care, old gentleman," said the young man, facing about; "my secondbarrel is loaded, and if you dare--"
"By Heaven! I'll thrash you, you scoundrel!" said Repton, whose passionwas now boiling over by a sudden bound of the cob, which had nearlythrown him from the saddle,--a mischance greeted by a hearty burst oflaughter from the stranger.
"I fancy you have quite enough to do at this moment!" cried he, stilllaughing.
Half mad with anger, Repton pressed his spurs to the cob's flanks, whilehe gave him a vigorous cut of the whip on the shoulder. The animalwas little accustomed to such usage, and reared up wildly, and wouldinevitably have fallen back with his rider, had not the stranger,springing forward, seized the bridle, and pulled him down by main force.Whether indifferent to his own safety, or so blinded by passion as notto recognize to what he owed it, the old man struck the other a heavyblow with his whip over the head, cutting through his hat, and coveringhis face with blood.
The young man passing his arm through the bridle, so as to render theother's escape impossible, coolly removed his hat and proceeded tostanch the bleeding with his handkerchief,--not the slightest sign ofexcitement being displayed by him, nor any evidence of feeling that theevent was other than a more accident.
"Let loose my bridle-rein,--let it loose, sir," said Repton,passionately,--more passionately, perhaps, from observing the measuredcalmness of the other.
"When I know who you are, I shall," said the young man.
"My name is Valentine Repton; my address, if you want it, is MerrionSquare North, Dublin; and can you now tell me where a magistrate'swarrant will reach _you?_"
"My present residence is a house you may have seen on the side of themountain as you came along, called, I think, Barnagheela; my name isMassingbred."
"You presume to be a gentleman, then?" said Repton.
"I have not heard the matter disputed before," said Jack, with an easysmile, while he leisurely bound the handkerchief round his head.
"And of course, you look for satisfaction for this?"
"I trust that there can be no mistake upon that point, at least,"replied he.
"And you shall have it, too; though, hang me, if I well know whether youshould not receive it at the next assizes,--but you shall have it. I'll go into Oughterard this day; I 'll be there by nine o'clock, at theMartin Arms."
"That will do," said Massingbred, with a coolness almost likeindifference; while he resumed his gun, which he had thrown down, andproceeded to load the second barrel.
"You are aware that you are poaching here?" said Repton,--"that this ispart of the Martin estate, and strictly preserved?"
"Indeed! and I thought it belonged to Magennis," said Jack, easily; "buta preserve without a gamekeeper, or even a notice, is a blockade withouta blockading squadron." And without a word more, or any notice of theother, Massingbred shouldered his gun and walked away.
It was some time before Repton could summon resolution to leave thespot, such was the conflict of thoughts that went on within him. Shameand sorrow were, indeed, uppermost in his mind, but still not unmingl
edwith anger at the consummate ease and coolness of the other, who by thisline of conduct seemed to assume a tone of superiority the mostgalling and insulting. In vain did he endeavor to justify his act tohimself,--in vain seek to find a plausible pretext for his anger. Hecould not, by all his ingenuity, do so, and he only grew more passionateat his own failure. "Another would hand him over to the next justice ofthe peace,--would leave him to quarter sessions; but not so ValRepton. No, by Jove, he 'll find a man to his humor there, if he wantsfighting," said he, aloud, as he turned his horse about and rode slowlyback.
It was already dusk when he joined Miss Martin, who, uneasy at hisprolonged absence, had entered the wood in search of him. It requiredall the practised dissimulation of the old lawyer to conceal the signsof his late adventure; nor, indeed, were his replies to her questionsquite free from a certain amount of inconsistency. Mary, however,willingly changed the subject, and led him back to speak of topics moreagreeable and congenial to him. Still he was not the same sprightlycompanion who had ridden beside her in the morning. He conversed with adegree of effort, and, when suffered, would relapse into long intervalsof silence.
"Who inhabits that bleak-looking house yonder?" said he, suddenly.
"A certain Mr. Magennis, a neighbor, but not an acquaintance, of ours."
"And how comes it that he lives in the very middle, as it were, of theestate?"
"An old lease, obtained I can't say how many centuries back, and whichwill expire in a year or two. He has already applied for a renewal ofit."
"And of course, unsuccessfully?"
"Up to this moment it is as you say, but I am endeavoring to persuademy uncle not to disturb him; nor would he, if Magennis would only becommonly prudent. You must know that this person is the leading Radicalof our town of Oughterard, the man who sets himself most strenuously inopposition to our influence in the borough, and would uproot our powerthere, were he able."
"So far, then, he is a courageous fellow."
"Sometimes I take that view of his conduct, and at others I am disposedto regard him as one not unwilling to make terms with us."
"How subtle all these dealings can make a young lady!" said Repton,slyly.
"Say, rather, what a strain upon one's acuteness it is to ride out witha great lawyer, one so trained to see spots in the sun that he won'tacknowledge its brightness if there be a speck to search for."
"And yet it's a great mistake to suppose that we are always looking onthe dark side of human nature," said he, reflectively; "though," addedhe, after a pause, "it's very often our business to exaggerate baseness,and make the worst of a bad man."
"Even that may be more pardonable than to vilify a good one," said Mary.
"So it is, young lady; you are quite right there." He was thoughtfulfor a while, and then said: "It is very singular, but nevertheless true,that, in my profession, one loses sight of the individual, as such, andonly regards him as a mere element of the case, plaintiff or defendantas he may be. I remember once, in a southern circuit, a hale,fine-looking young fellow entering my room to present me with a hare. Hehad walked twelve miles to offer it to me. 'Your honor doesn't rememberme,' said he, sorrowfully, and evidently grieved at my forgetfulness.'To be sure I do,' replied I, trying to recall his features; 'youare--let me see--you are--I have it--you are Jemmy Ryan.'
"'No, sir,' rejoined he, quickly, 'I'm the boy that murdered him.'
"Ay, Miss Martin, there's a leaf out of a lawyer's notebook, and yetI could tell you more good traits of men and women, more of patientmartyrdom under wrong, more courageous suffering to do right, than if Iwere--what shall I say?--a chaplain in a nobleman's family."
Repton's memory was well stored with instances in question, and hebeguiled the way by relating several, till they reached Cro' Martin.
"And there is another yet," added he, at the close, "more stronglyillustrating what I have said than all these, but I cannot tell it to_you_."
"Why so?" asked she, eagerly.
"It is a family secret, Miss Martin, and one that in all likelihood youshall never know. Still, I cannot refrain from saying that you have inyour own family as noble a specimen of self-sacrifice and denial as Iever heard of."
They were already at the door as he said this, and a troop of servantshad assembled to receive them. Mary, therefore, had no time for furtherinquiry, had such an attempt been of any avail.
"There goes the first dinner-bell, Miss Martin," said Repton, gayly."I'm resolved to be in the drawing-room before you!" And with this hehopped briskly upstairs, while Mary hastened to her room to dress.
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II) Page 16